Chapter Guide
In brief
Chapter VIII asks poetry to serve life: true verse awakens desire, strengthens action, and renews Islamic culture, while decadent verse makes weakness beautiful.
The chapter opens by returning to desire, now through the vocation of poetry. Desire warms the blood, fills life's cup, and turns beauty into a summons. For Iqbal, the poet is not merely a decorator of experience; he reveals beauty in such a way that the heart begins to seek, move, and conquer.
That is why the poet's power is described so extravagantly. He makes nature more beloved, hides new worlds in his heart, and can lead stumbling travellers toward a fuller life. But the same power can become destructive. When a poet turns away from the joy of living, his sweetness becomes opium, his music chills the heart, and his art teaches a people to mistake surrender for wisdom.
The closing movement turns criticism into reform. Iqbal tells the reader to test poetry on the touchstone of life: does it clarify action, kindle love, and prepare the self for struggle? The answer is a return from pampered garden-song to the heat of the desert, the discipline of the Arabs, and a nest built high enough for lightning, battle, and fire.
Figures in this chapter
- Khizr
- Nicholson's note links Khizr with the Fountain of Life in the Land of Darkness. Iqbal makes the true poet Khizr-like: a guide whose tears and vision make the world more alive. Encyclopaedia Iranica
- Sirens
- Iqbal compares the decadent poet to the Sirens, whose beautiful song draws sailors toward ruin. The image sharpens his warning that attractive art can still wreck a people's will. Britannica
- Salmá of Araby
- Nicholson explains that Arabic odes often begin by naming the beloved Salmá; here Iqbal uses that convention for Al-Quran and the ideals it carries, urging literature back toward formative revelation rather than complaint.
Original chapter heading
Concerning the true nature of poetry and the reform of Islamic literature.
گرم خون انسان ز داغ آرزوآتش ، این خاک از چراغ آرزو
از تمنا می بجام آمد حیاتگرم خیز و تیزگام آمد حیات
زندگی مضمون تسخیر است و بسآرزو افسون تسخیر است و بس
زندگی صید افکن و دام آرزوحسن را از عشق پیغام آرزو
از چه رو خیزد تمنا دمبدماین نوای زندگی را زیر و بم
هر چه باشد خوب و زیبا و جمیلدر بیابان طلب ما را دلیل
نقش او محکم نشیند در دلتآرزو ها آفریند در دلت
حسن خلاق بهار آرزوستجلوه اش پروردگار آرزوست
سینه ی شاعر تجلی زار حسنخیزد از سینای او انوار حسن
از نگاهش خوب گردد خوب ترفطرت از افسون او محبوب تر
از دمش بلبل نوا آموخت استغازه اش رخسار گل افروخت است
سوز او اندر دل پروانه هاعشق را رنگین ازو افسانه ها
بحر و بر پوشیده در آب و گلشنصد جهان تازه مضمر در دلش
در دماغش نادمیده لاله هاناشنیده نغمه ها هم ناله ها
فکر او با ماه و انجم همنشینزشت را نا آشنا خوب آفرین
خضر و در ظلمات او آب حیاتزنده تر از آب چشمش کائنات
ما گران سیریم و خام و ساده ایمدر ره منزل ز پا افتاده ایم
عندلیب او نوا پرداخت استحیله ئی از بهر ما انداخت است
تا کشد ما را بفردوس حیاتحلقه ی کامل شود قوس حیات
کاروانها از درایش گام زندر پی آواز نایش گام زن
چون نسیمش در ریاض ما وزدنرمک اندر لاله و گل می خزد
از فریب او خود افزا زندگیخود حساب و نا شکیبا زندگی
اهل عالم را صلا بر خوان کندآتش خود را چو باد ارزان کند
وای قومی کز اجل گیرد براتشاعرش وا بوسد از ذوق حیات
خوش نماید زشت را آئینه اشدر جگر صد نشتر از نوشینه اش
بوسه ی او تازگی از گل بردذوق پرواز از دل بلبل برد
سست اعصاب تو از افیون اوزندگانی قیمت مضمون او
می رباید ذوق رعنائی ز سروجره شاهین از دم سردش تذرو
ماهی و از سینه تا سر آدم استچون بنات آشیان اندر یم است
از نوا بر ناخدا افسون زندکشتیش در قعر دریا افکند
نغمه هایش از دلت دزدد ثباتمرگ را از سحر او دانی حیات
دایه ی هستی ز جان تو بردلعل عنابی ز کان تو برد
چون زیان پیرایه بندد سود رامی کند مذموم هر محمود را
در یم اندیشه اندازد ترااز عمل بیگانه می سازد ترا
خسته و ما از کلامش خسته ترانجمن از دور جامش خسته تر
جوی برقی نیست در نیسان اویک سراب رنگ و بو بستان او
حسن او را با صداقت کار نیستدر یمش جز گوهر تف دار نیست
خواب را خوشتر ز بیداری شمردآتش ما از نفسهایش فسرد
قلب مسموم از سرود بلبلشخفته ماری زیر انبار گلشن
از خم و مینا و جامش الحذراز می آئینه فامش الحذر
ای ز پا افتاده ی صهبای اوصبح تو از مشرق مینای او
ای دلت از نغمه هایش سرد جوشزهر قاتل خورده ئی از راه گوش
ای دلیل انحطاط انداز تواز نوا افتاد تار ساز تو
آن چنان زار از تن آسانی شدیدر جهان ننگ مسلمانی شدی
از رگ گل می توان بستن ترااز نسیمی می توان خستن ترا
عشق رسوا گشته از فریاد توزشت رو تمثالش از بهزاد تو
زرد از آزار تو رخسار اوسردی تو برده سوز از نار او
خسته جان از خسته جانیهای توناتوان از ناتوانیهای تو
گریه ی طفلانه در پیمانه اشکلفت آهی متاع خانه اش
سر خوش از دریوزه ی میخانه هاجلوه دزد روزن کاشانه ها
نا خوشی ، افسرده ئی ، آزرده ئیاز لگد کوب نگهبان مرده ئی
از غمان مانند نی کاهیده ئیوز فلک صد شکوه بر لب چیده ئی
لابه و کین جوهر آئینه اشناتوانی همدم دیرینه اش
پست بخت و زیر دست و دون نهادناسزا و ناامید و نامراد
شیونش از جان تو سرمایه بردلطف خواب از دیده ی همسایه برد
وای بر عشقی که نار او فسرددر حرم زائید و در بتخانه مرد
ای میان کیسه ات نقد سخنبر عیار زندگی او را بزن
فکر روشن بین عمل را رهبر استچون درخش برق پیش از تندر است
فکر صالح در ادب می بایدترجعتی سوی عرب می بایدت
دل به سلمای عرب باید سپردتا دمد صبح حجاز از شام کرد
از چمن زار عجم گل چیده ئینو بهار هند و ایران دیده ئی
اندکی از گرمی صحرا بخورباده ی دیرینه از خرما بخور
سر یکی اندر بر گرمش بدهتن دمی با صرصر گرمش بده
مدتی غلطیده ئی اندر حریرخو به کرپاس درشتی هم بگیر
قرنها بر لاله پا کوبیده ئیعارض از شبنم چو گل شوئیده ئی
خویش ر بر ریگ سوزان هم بزنغوطه اندر چشمه ی زمزم بزن
مثل بلبل ذوق شیون تا کجادر چمن زاران نشیمن تا کجا
ای هما از یمن دامت ارجمندآشیانی ساز بر کوه بلند
آشیانی برق و تندر در بریاز کنام جره بازان برتری
تا شوی در خورد پیکار حیاتجسم و جانت سوزد از نار حیات
Persian text from Ganjoor · 70 bayts
By the lamp of desire this dust is enkindled.
By desire Life’s cup is brimmed with wine,
So that Life leaps to its feet and marches briskly on.
Life is occupied with conquest alone,
And the one charm for conquest is desire.
Life is the hunter and desire the snare,
Desire is Love’s message to Beauty.
Wherefore doth desire swell continuously
The bass and treble of Life’s song?
Whatsoever is good and fair and beautiful
Is our guide in the wilderness of seeking.
Its image becomes impressed on thine heart,
It creates desires in thine heart.
Beauty is the creator of desire’s springtide,
Desire is nourished by the display of Beauty.
‘Tis in the poet’s breast that Beauty unveils,
‘Tis from his Sinai that Beauty’s beams arise.
By his look the fair is made fairer,
Through his enchantments Nature is more beloved.
From his lips the nightingale hath learned her song,
And his rouge hath brightened the cheek of the rose.
‘Tis his passion burns in the heart of the moth,
‘Tis he that lends glowing hues to love-tales.
Sea and land are hidden within his water and clay,[58]
A hundred new worlds are concealed in his heart.
Ere tulips blossomed in his brain
There was heard no note of joy or grief.
His music breathes o’er us a wonderful enchantment,
His pen draws a mountain with a single hair.
His thoughts dwell with the moon and the stars,
He creates beauty in that which is ugly and strange.
He is a Khizr, and amidst his darkness is the Fountain of Life:[59]
All things that exist are made more living by his tears.
Heavily we go, like raw novices,
Stumbling on the way to the goal.
His nightingale hath played a tune
And laid a plot to beguile us,
That he may lead us into Life’s Paradise,
And that Life’s bow may become a full circle.
Caravans march at the sound of his bell
And follow the voice of his pipe;
But when his zephyr blows in our gardens,
We stay loitering amongst tulips and roses.
His witchery makes Life develop itself
And become self-questioning and impatient.
He invites the whole world to his table;
He lavishes his fire as though it were cheap as air.
Woe to a people that resigns itself to death,
And whose poet turns away from the joy of living!
His mirror shows beauty as ugliness,
His honey leaves a hundred stings in the heart.
His kiss robs the rose of freshness,
He takes away from the nightingale’s heart the joy of flying.
Thy sinews are relaxed by his opium,
Thou payest for his song with thy life.
He bereaves the cypress of delight in its beauty,
His cold breath makes a pheasant of the male falcon.
He is a fish, and from the breast upward a man,
Like the Sirens in the ocean.
With his song he enchants the pilot
And casts the ship to the bottom of the sea.
His melodies steal firmness from thine heart,
His magic persuades thee that death is life.
He takes from thy soul the desire of existence,
He extracts from thy mine the blushing ruby.
He dresses gain in the garb of loss,
He makes everything praiseworthy blameful.
He plunges thee in a sea of thought,
He makes thee a stranger to action.
He is sick, and by his words our sickness is increased:
The more his cup goes round, the more sick are they that quaff it.
There are no lightning-rains in his April,
His garden is a mirage of colour and perfume.
His beauty hath no dealings with Truth,
There are none but flawed pearls in his sea.
Slumber he deemed sweeter than waking:
Our fire was quenched by his breath.
By the chant of his nightingale the heart was poisoned:
Under his heap of roses lurked a snake.
Beware of his decanter and cup!
Beware of his sparkling wine!
O thou whom his wine hath laid low
And who look’st to his glass for thy rising dawn,
O thou whose heart hath been chilled by his melodies,
Thou hast drunk deadly poison through the ear!
Thy way of life is a proof of thy degeneracy,
The strings of thine instrument are out of tune.
‘Tis pampered ease hath made thee so wretched,
A disgrace to Islam throughout the world.
One can bind thee with the vein of a rose,
One can wound thee with a zephyr.
Love hath been put to shame by thy wailing,
His fair picture hath been fouled by thy brush.
Thy ill-usage hath paled his cheek,
Thy coldness hath taken the glow from his fire.
He is heartsick from thy heartsicknesses,
And enfeebled by thy feeblenesses.
His cup is full of childish tears,
His house is furnished with distressful sighs.[60]
He is a drunkard begging at tavern-doors,
Stealing glimpses of beauty from lattices,
Unhappy, melancholy, injured,
Kicked well-nigh to death by the warder;
Wasted like a reed by sorrows,
On his lips a store of complaints against Heaven.
Flattery and spite are the mettle of his mirror,
Helplessness his comrade of old;
A miserable base-born underling
Without worth or hope or object,
Whose lamentations have sucked the marrow from thy soul
And driven off gentle sleep from thy neighbours’ eyes.
Alas for a love whose fire is extinct,
A love that was born in the Holy Place and died in the house of idols!
Oh, if thou hast the coin of poesy in thy purse,
Rub it on the touchstone of Life!
Clear-seeing thought shows the way to action,
As the lightning-flash precedes the thunder.
It behoves thee to meditate well concerning literature,
It behoves thee to go back to the Arabs:
Thou must needs give thine heart to the Salmá of Araby,[61]
That the morn of the Hijáz may blossom from the night of Kurdistan.[62]
Thou hast gathered roses from the garden of Persia
And seen the springtide of India and Iran:
Now taste a little of the heat of the desert,
Drink the old wine of the date!
Lay thine head for once on its hot breast,
Yield thy body awhile to its scorching wind!
For a long time thou hast turned about on a bed of silk:
Now accustom thyself to rough cotton!
For generations thou hast danced on tulips
And bathed thy cheek in dew, like the rose:
Now throw thyself on the burning sand
And plunge into the fountain of Zemzem!
How long wilt thou fain lament like the nightingale?
How long make thine abode in gardens?
O thou whose auspicious snare would do honour to the Phœnix,
Build a nest on the high mountains,
A nest embosomed in lightning and thunder,
Loftier than eagle’s eyrie,
That thou mayst be fit for Life’s battle,
That thy body and soul may burn in Life’s fire!
FOOTNOTES:
[58] I.e. in his body.
[59] Khizr, according to the legend, discovered the Fountain of Life in the Land of Darkness.
[60] In this passage the author assails the Persian and Urdu poetry so much in favour with his contemporaries.
[61] Arabic odes usually begin with a prelude in which the poet makes mention of his beloved; and her name is often Salmá. Here “the Salmá of Araby” refers to the Al-Quran and the ideals for which it stands.
[62] It is related that an ignorant Kurd came to some students and besought them to instruct him in the mysteries of Súfism. They told him that he must fasten a rope to the roof of his house, then tie the loose end to his feet and suspend himself, head downwards; and that he must remain in this posture as long as possible, reciting continually some words of gibberish which they taught him. The poor man did not perceive that he was being mocked. He followed their instructions and passed the whole night repeating the words given him. God rewarded his faith and sincerity by granting him illumination, so that he became a saint and could discourse learnedly on the most abstruse matters of mystical theology. Afterwards he used to say, “In the evening I was a Kurd, but the next morning I was an Arab.”
گرم خون انسان ز داغ آرزوآتش ، این خاک از چراغ آرزو
از تمنا می بجام آمد حیاتگرم خیز و تیزگام آمد حیات
By desire Life’s cup is brimmed with wine,
So that Life leaps to its feet and marches briskly on.
زندگی مضمون تسخیر است و بسآرزو افسون تسخیر است و بس
Life is occupied with conquest alone,
And the one charm for conquest is desire.
زندگی صید افکن و دام آرزوحسن را از عشق پیغام آرزو
Life is the hunter and desire the snare,
Desire is Love’s message to Beauty.
از چه رو خیزد تمنا دمبدماین نوای زندگی را زیر و بم
Wherefore doth desire swell continuously
The bass and treble of Life’s song?
هر چه باشد خوب و زیبا و جمیلدر بیابان طلب ما را دلیل
Whatsoever is good and fair and beautiful
Is our guide in the wilderness of seeking.
نقش او محکم نشیند در دلتآرزو ها آفریند در دلت
Its image becomes impressed on thine heart,
It creates desires in thine heart.
حسن خلاق بهار آرزوستجلوه اش پروردگار آرزوست
Beauty is the creator of desire’s springtide,
Desire is nourished by the display of Beauty.
سینه ی شاعر تجلی زار حسنخیزد از سینای او انوار حسن
‘Tis in the poet’s breast that Beauty unveils,
‘Tis from his Sinai that Beauty’s beams arise.
از نگاهش خوب گردد خوب ترفطرت از افسون او محبوب تر
By his look the fair is made fairer,
Through his enchantments Nature is more beloved.
از دمش بلبل نوا آموخت استغازه اش رخسار گل افروخت است
From his lips the nightingale hath learned her song,
And his rouge hath brightened the cheek of the rose.
سوز او اندر دل پروانه هاعشق را رنگین ازو افسانه ها
‘Tis his passion burns in the heart of the moth,
‘Tis he that lends glowing hues to love-tales.
بحر و بر پوشیده در آب و گلشنصد جهان تازه مضمر در دلش
Sea and land are hidden within his water and clay,[58]
A hundred new worlds are concealed in his heart.
در دماغش نادمیده لاله هاناشنیده نغمه ها هم ناله ها
Ere tulips blossomed in his brain
There was heard no note of joy or grief.
فکر او با ماه و انجم همنشینزشت را نا آشنا خوب آفرین
His music breathes o’er us a wonderful enchantment,
His pen draws a mountain with a single hair.
خضر و در ظلمات او آب حیاتزنده تر از آب چشمش کائنات
His thoughts dwell with the moon and the stars,
He creates beauty in that which is ugly and strange.
ما گران سیریم و خام و ساده ایمدر ره منزل ز پا افتاده ایم
He is a Khizr, and amidst his darkness is the Fountain of Life:[59]
All things that exist are made more living by his tears.
عندلیب او نوا پرداخت استحیله ئی از بهر ما انداخت است
Heavily we go, like raw novices,
Stumbling on the way to the goal.
تا کشد ما را بفردوس حیاتحلقه ی کامل شود قوس حیات
His nightingale hath played a tune
And laid a plot to beguile us,
کاروانها از درایش گام زندر پی آواز نایش گام زن
That he may lead us into Life’s Paradise,
And that Life’s bow may become a full circle.
چون نسیمش در ریاض ما وزدنرمک اندر لاله و گل می خزد
Caravans march at the sound of his bell
And follow the voice of his pipe;
از فریب او خود افزا زندگیخود حساب و نا شکیبا زندگی
But when his zephyr blows in our gardens,
We stay loitering amongst tulips and roses.
اهل عالم را صلا بر خوان کندآتش خود را چو باد ارزان کند
His witchery makes Life develop itself
And become self-questioning and impatient.
وای قومی کز اجل گیرد براتشاعرش وا بوسد از ذوق حیات
He invites the whole world to his table;
He lavishes his fire as though it were cheap as air.
خوش نماید زشت را آئینه اشدر جگر صد نشتر از نوشینه اش
Woe to a people that resigns itself to death,
And whose poet turns away from the joy of living!
بوسه ی او تازگی از گل بردذوق پرواز از دل بلبل برد
His mirror shows beauty as ugliness,
His honey leaves a hundred stings in the heart.
سست اعصاب تو از افیون اوزندگانی قیمت مضمون او
His kiss robs the rose of freshness,
He takes away from the nightingale’s heart the joy of flying.
می رباید ذوق رعنائی ز سروجره شاهین از دم سردش تذرو
Thy sinews are relaxed by his opium,
Thou payest for his song with thy life.
ماهی و از سینه تا سر آدم استچون بنات آشیان اندر یم است
He bereaves the cypress of delight in its beauty,
His cold breath makes a pheasant of the male falcon.
از نوا بر ناخدا افسون زندکشتیش در قعر دریا افکند
He is a fish, and from the breast upward a man,
Like the Sirens in the ocean.
نغمه هایش از دلت دزدد ثباتمرگ را از سحر او دانی حیات
With his song he enchants the pilot
And casts the ship to the bottom of the sea.
دایه ی هستی ز جان تو بردلعل عنابی ز کان تو برد
His melodies steal firmness from thine heart,
His magic persuades thee that death is life.
چون زیان پیرایه بندد سود رامی کند مذموم هر محمود را
He takes from thy soul the desire of existence,
He extracts from thy mine the blushing ruby.
در یم اندیشه اندازد ترااز عمل بیگانه می سازد ترا
He dresses gain in the garb of loss,
He makes everything praiseworthy blameful.
خسته و ما از کلامش خسته ترانجمن از دور جامش خسته تر
He plunges thee in a sea of thought,
He makes thee a stranger to action.
جوی برقی نیست در نیسان اویک سراب رنگ و بو بستان او
He is sick, and by his words our sickness is increased:
The more his cup goes round, the more sick are they that quaff it.
حسن او را با صداقت کار نیستدر یمش جز گوهر تف دار نیست
There are no lightning-rains in his April,
His garden is a mirage of colour and perfume.
خواب را خوشتر ز بیداری شمردآتش ما از نفسهایش فسرد
His beauty hath no dealings with Truth,
There are none but flawed pearls in his sea.
قلب مسموم از سرود بلبلشخفته ماری زیر انبار گلشن
Slumber he deemed sweeter than waking:
Our fire was quenched by his breath.
از خم و مینا و جامش الحذراز می آئینه فامش الحذر
By the chant of his nightingale the heart was poisoned:
Under his heap of roses lurked a snake.
ای ز پا افتاده ی صهبای اوصبح تو از مشرق مینای او
Beware of his decanter and cup!
Beware of his sparkling wine!
ای دلت از نغمه هایش سرد جوشزهر قاتل خورده ئی از راه گوش
O thou whom his wine hath laid low
And who look’st to his glass for thy rising dawn,
ای دلیل انحطاط انداز تواز نوا افتاد تار ساز تو
O thou whose heart hath been chilled by his melodies,
Thou hast drunk deadly poison through the ear!
آن چنان زار از تن آسانی شدیدر جهان ننگ مسلمانی شدی
Thy way of life is a proof of thy degeneracy,
The strings of thine instrument are out of tune.
از رگ گل می توان بستن ترااز نسیمی می توان خستن ترا
‘Tis pampered ease hath made thee so wretched,
A disgrace to Islam throughout the world.
عشق رسوا گشته از فریاد توزشت رو تمثالش از بهزاد تو
One can bind thee with the vein of a rose,
One can wound thee with a zephyr.
زرد از آزار تو رخسار اوسردی تو برده سوز از نار او
Love hath been put to shame by thy wailing,
His fair picture hath been fouled by thy brush.
خسته جان از خسته جانیهای توناتوان از ناتوانیهای تو
Thy ill-usage hath paled his cheek,
Thy coldness hath taken the glow from his fire.
گریه ی طفلانه در پیمانه اشکلفت آهی متاع خانه اش
He is heartsick from thy heartsicknesses,
And enfeebled by thy feeblenesses.
سر خوش از دریوزه ی میخانه هاجلوه دزد روزن کاشانه ها
His cup is full of childish tears,
His house is furnished with distressful sighs.[60]
نا خوشی ، افسرده ئی ، آزرده ئیاز لگد کوب نگهبان مرده ئی
He is a drunkard begging at tavern-doors,
Stealing glimpses of beauty from lattices,
از غمان مانند نی کاهیده ئیوز فلک صد شکوه بر لب چیده ئی
Unhappy, melancholy, injured,
Kicked well-nigh to death by the warder;
لابه و کین جوهر آئینه اشناتوانی همدم دیرینه اش
Wasted like a reed by sorrows,
On his lips a store of complaints against Heaven.
پست بخت و زیر دست و دون نهادناسزا و ناامید و نامراد
Flattery and spite are the mettle of his mirror,
Helplessness his comrade of old;
شیونش از جان تو سرمایه بردلطف خواب از دیده ی همسایه برد
A miserable base-born underling
Without worth or hope or object,
وای بر عشقی که نار او فسرددر حرم زائید و در بتخانه مرد
Whose lamentations have sucked the marrow from thy soul
And driven off gentle sleep from thy neighbours’ eyes.
ای میان کیسه ات نقد سخنبر عیار زندگی او را بزن
Alas for a love whose fire is extinct,
A love that was born in the Holy Place and died in the house of idols!
فکر روشن بین عمل را رهبر استچون درخش برق پیش از تندر است
Oh, if thou hast the coin of poesy in thy purse,
Rub it on the touchstone of Life!
فکر صالح در ادب می بایدترجعتی سوی عرب می بایدت
Clear-seeing thought shows the way to action,
As the lightning-flash precedes the thunder.
دل به سلمای عرب باید سپردتا دمد صبح حجاز از شام کرد
It behoves thee to meditate well concerning literature,
It behoves thee to go back to the Arabs:
از چمن زار عجم گل چیده ئینو بهار هند و ایران دیده ئی
اندکی از گرمی صحرا بخورباده ی دیرینه از خرما بخور
Thou hast gathered roses from the garden of Persia
And seen the springtide of India and Iran:
سر یکی اندر بر گرمش بدهتن دمی با صرصر گرمش بده
Now taste a little of the heat of the desert,
Drink the old wine of the date!
مدتی غلطیده ئی اندر حریرخو به کرپاس درشتی هم بگیر
Lay thine head for once on its hot breast,
Yield thy body awhile to its scorching wind!
قرنها بر لاله پا کوبیده ئیعارض از شبنم چو گل شوئیده ئی
For a long time thou hast turned about on a bed of silk:
Now accustom thyself to rough cotton!
خویش ر بر ریگ سوزان هم بزنغوطه اندر چشمه ی زمزم بزن
For generations thou hast danced on tulips
And bathed thy cheek in dew, like the rose:
مثل بلبل ذوق شیون تا کجادر چمن زاران نشیمن تا کجا
Now throw thyself on the burning sand
And plunge into the fountain of Zemzem!
ای هما از یمن دامت ارجمندآشیانی ساز بر کوه بلند
How long wilt thou fain lament like the nightingale?
How long make thine abode in gardens?
آشیانی برق و تندر در بریاز کنام جره بازان برتری
O thou whose auspicious snare would do honour to the Phœnix,
Build a nest on the high mountains,
تا شوی در خورد پیکار حیاتجسم و جانت سوزد از نار حیات
A nest embosomed in lightning and thunder,
Loftier than eagle’s eyrie,
Additional English lines (no Persian counterpart in Ganjoor)
That thou mayst be fit for Life’s battle,
That thy body and soul may burn in Life’s fire!
FOOTNOTES:
[58] I.e. in his body.
[59] Khizr, according to the legend, discovered the Fountain of Life in the Land of Darkness.
[60] In this passage the author assails the Persian and Urdu poetry so much in favour with his contemporaries.
[61] Arabic odes usually begin with a prelude in which the poet makes mention of his beloved; and her name is often Salmá. Here “the Salmá of Araby” refers to the Al-Quran and the ideals for which it stands.
[62] It is related that an ignorant Kurd came to some students and besought them to instruct him in the mysteries of Súfism. They told him that he must fasten a rope to the roof of his house, then tie the loose end to his feet and suspend himself, head downwards; and that he must remain in this posture as long as possible, reciting continually some words of gibberish which they taught him. The poor man did not perceive that he was being mocked. He followed their instructions and passed the whole night repeating the words given him. God rewarded his faith and sincerity by granting him illumination, so that he became a saint and could discourse learnedly on the most abstruse matters of mystical theology. Afterwards he used to say, “In the evening I was a Kurd, but the next morning I was an Arab.”
Persian text from Ganjoor · 70 bayts